The Holy Grail that Isn't Quite
by 3466-0402
Summary: Merlin/Monty Python crossover. Or really, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Merlin style. Arthur searches for knights and Merlin finds a coconut. Hunith is in cahoots with the Great Dragon and often joins him for tea. Hinted Arthur/Merlin


**A/N: I'm a little surprised that no one has tried this yet, so I thought that I'd give it a go. Anyway, it's (supposed to be) complete crack and I do hope that you'll find it funny! :D I'll continue posting if people like it enough, I suppose :P **

**Disclaimer: Monty Python doesn't belong to me. Merlin (BBC) doesn't belong to me either.**

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'Knights,' Arthur says to Merlin one wintery day, and Merlin stabs himself in the leg with the fireplace poker in surprise.

'Ouch,' he replies, and Arthur nods sagely. 'Knights,' he repeats, 'I need knights. Loads of them. Brave knight-people. With swords and everything.' He doesn't listen when Merlin tells him that Camelot isn't short of knights, and he doesn't reply when Merlin offers to fetch him an army to prove that Camelot isn't short of knights. Instead, he sends the boy off to pack about a year's worth of provisions for their journey and heads off to see his father.

* * *

He tells his father that he is going to search for the Holy Grail, because Uther also thinks that Camelot isn't short of sword-wielding people (Arthur doesn't see why) and wouldn't have allowed Arthur on his quest (yes, Arthur thinks, a quest) otherwise.

'When will you be back?' Uther asks.

'A year, maybe six months.'

'No.'

'The Grail will make Camelot the envy of every kingdom.'

'Oh,' Uther says. 'Alright then.'

* * *

A year's worth of provisions turns out to be more than expected and they end up fashioning a rack to help Merlin carry everything. Arthur feels a small thrill of happiness to learn that the rack has made Merlin about a foot shorter than Arthur is.

What did you tell your father?' Merlin asks him, as they head towards the gates of Camelot.

'That we're going to search for the Holy Grail,' Arthur says smugly, because that reason had come right off the top of his head. No planning whatsoever.

Merlin doesn't seem impressed, and he hefts the rack up his shoulders with a small groan. 'What about the horses?'

'This,' Arthur tells him dramatically, 'is a manly quest. A quest of macho-ness, and a quest to find knights. Macho and Manly people have no need for horses.'

And so, they leave Camelot.

* * *

'Merlin?' Arthur says. They are about a week into their journey (in Mercia) and have found no knights. 'I miss the horses.'

Merlin's shoulders throb and his head hurts and he doesn't tell Arthur that he's a complete prat. Ducking and hiding from Mercian soldiers with a huge rack on your shoulders tends to do that to you. He sighs and sits heavily on the ground, then yelps and shoots to his feet when something cracks beneath his bottom.

Arthur picks the two brown halves of The Thing Merlin Cracked and clacks them together curiously. _Clip clop clip clop_ they go, and he grins. 'Here,' he says, as he thrusts the halves in Merlin's face. 'Clack them together. They sound like horses. It is impressive. '

_Clip clop clip clop_, and with one miserable sigh, they're off again.

* * *

Sometime during their journey, Merlin learns that he also needs to make horse sounds to keep Arthur happy.

* * *

It has been about two months since the journey began, and Arthur has dragged Merlin across the length and breadth of the land, through the kingdom of Mercia amongst many others, and the weather hasn't gotten any warmer.

Merlin _clip_s and _clop_s miserably after Arthur as the howling winds around them blow dirt and dust into their faces. His hands are beginning to numb and he wonders if his shoulders will ever straighten. 'Whoa there!' Arthur cries, holding up a hand, and Merlin gives his obligatory snort. There is a castle somewhere in the distance, and Merlin feels a rush of relief. It is the first sign of decent civilisation they've seen in ages, which is a little sad, considering that they _have _travelled through many kingdoms during the course of their journey. Quest. Thing.

Arthur lowers his hands and jerks at his invisible reins, because acting as though he owns a horse, Merlin has learnt, also makes him feel happy. They near the castle and Arthur stops them again. Merlin forgets to snort.

'Halt!' the guard shouts, 'who goes there?'

'It is I,' Arthur shouts back, 'Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. The One who will, eventually, be King of the Britons (but is now only Crown Prince of Camelot)! The One who will, in the future, defeat the Saxons! And, also, become sovereign of all England!'

Lowering his voice slightly, he gives the guard a rather conspiratorial glance and says, 'I got all this from a fortune teller in Ethandun. Lovely chap, but don't tell anyone, you hear?' Merlin sighs and Arthur digs an elbow into his side.

'Pull the other one!' the guard yells, and Merlin is half-thankful that the guard ignored the stuff about the fortune teller. Arthur can't, after all, unite the whole of Albion if bits of Albion think him a great idiot. Merlin secretly agrees with those bits.

'I am!' Arthur says, a little petulantly, 'and this is my trusty servant, Merlin. We have ridden the length and breadth of the land in search of knights who will join me in Camelot. I must speak with your lord and master.'

'What,' the guard laughs, 'ridden on a horse?'

'Yes!' Arthur snaps, and Merlin neighs when Arthur's elbow (he doesn't remember it being so pointy) digs into his side again and considers going on strike.

'You're using coconuts!'

'What?' Arthur says, frowning, and he and Merlin glance down at the brown halves in Merlin's hands. Ah, Merlin thinks, so Arthur was wrong about them being Pompoes then.

'You've got two empty halves of coconut and you're bangin' 'em together.'

'So?' Arthur's nostrils are flaring a little and he looks quite like a rabid mouse. 'We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land,' Arthur adds, 'through the kingdom of Mercia, through –'

'Where'd you get the coconut?' the guard interrupts, and Arthur looks vaguely annoyed.

'We found them,' he replies, straightening his shoulders and puffing his chest out in what Merlin has come to know as Prince Prat Pose One.

'Found them? In Mercia?' the guard (whom we shall call Peter, for convenience' sake) gives a hooting laugh. 'The coconut's tropical!'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, this is a temperate zone,' Peter says importantly.

'The swallow may fly south with the sun, or the house martin or the plumber may seek warmer climes in winter – yet these are not strangers to our land,' Arthur smirks smugly, and Merlin shakes his head a little sadly.

'Are you suggesting that coconuts migrate?'

Arthur blinks, and gapes stupidly at Peter. 'Carried,' Merlin whispers, because the guard is beginning to laugh again and Arthur is beginning to look redder and redder with embarrassment and anger.

'Not at all,' Arthur sneers. 'They could be carried.'

'What –' Peter says, and Merlin sees Arthur puff up in Prince is Right Pose Three. 'A swallow carrying a coconut?'

'It could grip it by the husk!' Arthur retorts, and deflates visibly.

'It's not a question of where he grips it! It's a simple question of weight ratios! A five ounce bird could not carry a one pound coconut!' Merlin suppresses a laugh, and Arthur gives him a dirty look.

'Well, it doesn't matter,' Arthur spits. 'Will you go and tell your master that Arthur from Camelot is here.'

'Listen,' Peter continues,' in order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to beat its wrings forty-three times every second, right?'

'Please!' Arthur yells, and Merlin feels a little, just a little, sorry for him. The straps of the rack dig into his shoulders then, and Merlin decides that Arthur isn't worth feeling sorry for after all.

'Am I right?'

'I'm not interested!'

'It could be carried by an African swallow!' another guard cuts in, and Arthur rubs a hand over his brow.

'Oh, yeah,' Peter says, 'an African swallow, maybe, but not a European swallow, that's my point.'

'Oh, yeah, I agree with that…'

'Will you ask your master if he wants to join my court at Camelot?' Arthur shouts, and both the guards ignore him. With a loud and awfully dramatic sigh, he pulls at the 'reins' in his hands and Merlin _clop_s a little more cheerfully after him. _Coconuts_, he think, _like, coconuts_.

'But then of course African swallows aren't migratory.'

'Oh yeah…'

'So they couldn't bring a coconut back anyway.' Arthur looks unhappily at Merlin, and Merlin thinks that Arthur looks ridiculous with that expression. 'Pompoes,' he says sagely. Merlin smirks a little and _clip_s.

'Wait a minute – supposing two swallows carried it together?'

'No… They'd have to have it on a line.' Arthur picks a large rock up.

'Well, simple!' They'd just use a strand of creeper!' and turns it over in his hands, rubbing his fingers over the sharp edges and testing the weight.

'What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers?' Arthur flings the rock at the soldiers.

'Well, why not?' he misses. Merlin _clop_s.

* * *

When Merlin sees a village that he recognises, he feels strangely light and squishy on the inside. Especially since that village happens to be Ealdor. He even soaks in the cries of the local body collector, a chant of 'bring out your dead!' which has Arthur looking more than a little disturbed. Arthur lets him go see his mother, so Merlin drops the rack onto the ground and rushes towards his home. The lack of weight on his shoulders is strange, and so Merlin stumbles several times and falls into a stream before making his way to his mother's house.

He notices that something is very wrong when he finally gets there, because Hunith has a huge something slung over her shoulder, and the local body collector is waiting patiently for her to lug that something (a body, Merlin realises, which makes sense, since the _body _collector is there) over to the cart. Merlin also realises that the body belongs to Will, because only Will's body can exude such a sense of Will-ness. He nods at the logic.

'Here's one!' Hunith cries, as she jogs over to the cart.

'That'll be nine pence,' the body collector says, and he reaches out to grab the body. Merlin gives a high-pitched and slightly squeaky cry that garners a bark of a laugh from a nearby Arthur.

'He's not dead!' Merlin yells, sprinting over and grabbing Will's body from the body collector, who jerks back in surprise.

'What?' the body collector says. 'Are you dead?'

'Merlin!' Hunith says. 'I've missed you.'

'Will's not dead!' Merlin shouts, and he hugs the body to his chest. He tries to ignore the fact that Will is still and cold in his hands but can't and so, warms the body up with the softest whisper of magic. There, Merlin thinks, satisfied. He stares defiantly at the body collector. 'He's not dead,' Merlin repeats.

'What?' the body collector says.

'Nothing,' Hunith snaps hurriedly, grabbing Will by the neck and pulling. Merlin tugs back just as viciously. 'Here's your nine pence,' she says in a slightly strangled voice.

'He says that he isn't dead,' the body collector says a little dubiously, poking at Will's limp arm with a grimly finger.

'Yes he is!' Hunith cries, and gives Will's body a particularly harsh tug. Merlin yanks insistently back, and Will looks rather strained, even in death.

'No, he isn't, Mother!' Merlin exclaims, and moves his grip to Will's ankles. Better leverage, he tells himself. The body collector is gaping at them and vaguely, Merlin notes that Will's feet don't smell very good.

'Look,' the body collector says placatingly. 'I've got to go to the Robinsons. They lost nine today and I've got to make a killing you know.' He gives an awkward laugh.

'He's stone dead, Merlin!' Hunith insists.

'He's warm,' Merlin snaps, 'and getting better. Look! He moved!'

'You're just shaking him!'

'No, I'm not,' Merlin says, and gives Will's arm a flick. 'Look! He moved again!'

'Moved?' Hunith shrieks, eyeballing her son with the bulgiest eyeballs Merlin has seen before.

'You stunned him, mother,' he responds, giving Will another hard tug. 'He was just about to wake up! Stuns easily, our Will. Remarkable boy, isn't he? Lovely plumage.'

'Plumage?'

'Look, I can't take him like that. It's against regulations!' the body collector cries desperately.

'If he's asleep,' Hunith says finally, 'then I'll wake him up!' Pulling Will's head even closer, she screams, ''ello William! This is your morning wakeup call! Prince Arthur is here and he says that you can beat him up if you show…'

Will's head pops off his body with a wet sounding plop.

'Now that,' the body collector says cheerfully, 'is dead.' And then he snatches Will's head from Hunith, Will's body from Merlin, pops the nine pence into his pocket, and vanishes into the distant sunset.

Merlin stares at his mother. 'Will was resting,' he says petulantly, arms crossed.

'In peace,' Hunith agrees, and steps back when Arthur clubs her son over the head with the butt of his sword.

'Sorry, Hunith!' he says, slinging Merlin's body over his shoulder. 'We've a quest-like thing to complete!' And he vanishes into the sunset too. Hunith walks back into her house.

Grabbing a bottle of jam and a leg of ham from the pantry, she sits at the table and wonders if Kilgharrah will be free for tea Monday next week. Destiny, she thinks wistfully, is adorable.

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**A/N: Hope that you enjoyed that! I'd love reviews, and constructive criticism will be constructive :)**


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